


settle down with me (cuddle me up)

by pocketharold



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: BoyxBoy, Cute, Fluff, Harry Styles - Freeform, Hugging, Kissing, Louis Tomlinson - Freeform, Love, M/M, Sickness, Sundays, Swearing, Vomiting, if you dont like boyxboy get over it, larry - Freeform, non-graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 01:25:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketharold/pseuds/pocketharold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sunday mornings were supposed to be nice mornings. They were most certainly not, in Louis’ opinion, days for runny noses and unsettled stomachs. But he supposed, it was alright if Harry was there to care for him.<br/>-or<br/>in which Louis wakes up feeling awful and caring boyfriend Harry wants to make him happy</p>
            </blockquote>





	settle down with me (cuddle me up)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my own work and I thought of it as I was sitting at home on a sunday afternoon wondering what it would be like to have someone to do this for me and yeah, alone forever, I know. But my mind wondered and created this.

Sunday mornings were supposed to be nice mornings – blissful even. They were supposed to be mornings of sleep ins and breakfast in bed and kisses underneath the covers. They were most certainly not, in Louis’ opinion, days for runny noses and unsettled stomachs. He’d woken up with high hopes for the day, rolled over to kiss Harry and then, suddenly hit by a wave of awful nausea, and emptied his stomach of the previous night’s dinner all over his curly haired lover. He was sure it wasn’t a very lovely way to wake up for Harry either. 

After the embarrassing episode on behalf of Louis’ stomach, the curly haired boy dotingly made him go back to bed while he took a shower to clean off the rather foul stench of Louis’ vomit. But alas, while Harry was in the middle of washing the shampoo suds from his hair, Louis came rushing in pale faced, only to empty his (what he had assumed to be emptied) stomach yet again. Harry was genuinely worried now and ushered the boy back to bed with a kiss to a forehead and a promise to whip him up some Yorkshire tea, Louis’ favorite.   
Louis was most certainly not happy about spending his day in bed with a stomach more uneasy then Harry around moths, a rather odd fear Louis had discovered when he took Harry to a moth sanctuary on their second date; in short, he felt horrid. He had felt even worse when Harry tried to lighten the mood by calling him ‘Spewy’ instead of Louis, which he realized was not his brightest idea considering Louis was already in a foul mood. 

“C’mon Louis, ‘m sorry for calling you Spewy! Can you please stop ignoring me now?” Harry sighed, sipping his tea somewhat nervously; deep green eyes boring into the side of Louis’ head as he drunk his own tea in ragged gulps.

Louis sniffled dramatically, wiping at his runny nose.

“What has been done cannot be undone and furthermore my mood cannot be undone.” He stated, quite poetically if he did say so himself, and Harry sighed again.

“Louiissssssssssss.” He groaned, adjusting his dip dyed bandana atop his head to keep his still wet curls out his eyes. He hadn’t really gotten the chance to condition it, what with Louis interrupting and all, and it was slowly drying off into a wild mess of knots and waves.

“Harry, you called me SPEWY.” Louis miffed, rubbing his sore stomach as he set down his mug of tea, still avoiding Harry’s eyes.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I just wanted to make you feel better; I don’t like seeing my baby sad.” Harry knew Louis’ loved being called baby, and by the way Louis groaned in a way that didn’t seem to be due to his troubled stomach Harry knew he was going to drop it.

“Sundays shouldn’t be spent in bed with blocked noses and vomit buckets,” Louis suddenly wailed dramatically, gesturing to the red bucket Harry had subtly – or not so subtly as he had just discovered - placed by the bed in order to prevent another vomit soaking. “Sundays should be spent sleeping in, and having breakfast in bed, and kissing, and cuddling, and having picnics. I just want to have a nice Sunday.” 

Harry felt something drop in his stomach at his boyfriends cuteness and he decided that no, Sundays should not be spent in bed with runny noses and troubled tummy’s.   
“Be right back, baby.” Harry pressed a kiss to Louis’ stomach and rushed from the bedroom without another word. Louis heard the jingle of house keys and the slamming of a door, and then the flat was silent. He sighed; this Sunday really was turning out to be awful.

Half an hour later the sound of jingling keys and slamming of the front door returned, and Louis sat up in bed eagerly, only to fall straight back down on to the pillows with a sniffle and a groan. Harry did not enter the room and Louis did not leave his bed, and it was only an hour later when Louis heard his name called that he realized Harry hadn’t left him to die of sickness.  
Louis, with weak muscles and the mother of all stomach aches, heaved himself from the bed and staggered, worse than Niall after too many pints, into the sitting room where he found himself gaping at the sight in store. 

“Harry, you sweetheart.” He gasped, a smile pulling at his lips.

The curtains were drawn and the room was lit only by scented candles, casting a nice orange light around the room. The room was empty of all furniture – which Louis assumed had been moved elsewhere - and in replacement the floor was covered by a large red picnic blanket. Atop this blanket sat criss cross apple sauce was Harry In his pajamas, a big toothy smile on his face and a big metal tray in his hands; this metal tray held cold medicine, anti-nausea tablets, a hot water bottle for Louis’ stomach, a plain build-a-bear, two large tubs of strawberry ice-cream (Louis’ favourite ice-cream in the whole world) and a pile of movies. 

“My heart is rather sweet, isn't it? Now come sit here before I make you.” Harry batted his lashes stupidly at Louis, and he laughed, gently setting himself down beside the curly haired idiot. 

The following hours that proceeded included Harry somehow coaxing Louis into taking medicine (Louis hated medicine because it was gooey, and cold and he had not yet found a single medicine that actually tasted like the fruit it claimed to – this one was ‘berry flavoured’ and just as vile as he expected) and Louis then shoveling ice cream into his mouth to rid the disgusting taste. Then, Louis made Harry put on Lilo & Stitch, and Harry absolutely despised that movie but he didn’t say so because he got to spend the movie watching Louis react to the stupidly childish film, while holding the hot water bottle firmly to his stomach ‘just in case’.

As the credits slowly rolled, Hawaiian music finally fading to silence, Louis rolled over and snuggled his face into Harry’s pajama clad stomach. 

“I don’t feel sick anymore.” He sing-songed in a muffled voice, loudly kissing where he assumed Harry’s belly button was. 

“Oh really?” Harry mused, watching Louis with playful eyes.

“Really.” 

Louis’ sniffle which he swiftly tried to disguise as a cough gave him away, however, and Harry simply laughed, wrapping his arms around the smaller boy. Louis scowled but gave in, pressing his ear to Harry’s chest so that he could listen to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart. In that moment of slow breathing and warm bodies pressed against one another that something occurred to Harry.

“Hey Louis?” 

“Mmm?”

“This may seem straightforward but...I want to spend every Sunday like this. With you. It doesn't matter that you’re sick or whatever, because you’re pretty all the time anyway. This sounds really stupid and whatever but I just wanna hold you all the time y’know. I know ‘m not the best at romance and being sensitive and all that, but I know I love you and...yeah?” Harry fumbled on his words and they made no sense at times but Louis felt his heart melting in his chest and his blue eyes fluttered shut happily.

Harry had hardly finished his sentence before Louis was wrapping his arms around his neck; he could feel his smile against his throat and he found himself smiling because Louis was everything he wasn’t, but at the same time he matched him so well.

“You’re a cheeseball.”

“A cheeseball that wants to kiss you.”

“I’m sick Harry. You don’t want to get sick, do you?”

“Screw sickness. We can be sick together for all I care.” 

With that Harry kissed Louis and didn't give a fuck if he was going to be vomiting tomorrow because he knew Louis would be there to rub his back and tell him everything was going to be okay, and make him tea and hold a hot water bottle on his stomach – and Harry would reciprocate. He didn't really care if he was in sickness or good health, in poorness or in wealth. As long as his Sundays were spent with the boy in his arms, he could seriously care less.


End file.
